The Little Things
by Azoural
Summary: Kimbley has left him for dead in the remains of a destroyed mine; the two chimeras who fell in with him are unconscious; time is of the essence, and a passing stranger might just be the key to his survival. - a short tale of survival, resolve and consequences, featuring some philosophical themes, hurt!Ed and everyone's favorite psychopath. Based on the manga. T for swearing & blood
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: My interest in FMA (the manga) has recently made a spectacular come back for some reason, and I've noticed a distinct lack of fanfics that mention the scene I play with in this story - so here it is! My take on a slightly altered version of Ed - skewered edition (sorry not sorry).**

**Disclaimer: All rights to Fullmetal Alchemist rightly belong to Hiromu Arakawa, and I make absolutely zero profits in writing this.**

* * *

The Little Things

_Shit._

This is it.

He's screwed.

The two chimeras are unconscious despite him having lifted the debris from the explosion off them, and now he has no one to help him remove the... _misplaced_ steel beam _impaling his side._

Everything hurts.

Breathing hurts.

_Thinking _hurts.

Lieutenant, Al, Winry...

_Fuck_.

_He doesn't want to die_.

He's pretty sure he could partially heal his wound if the beam was removed, but he can barely move a finger after the transmutation he did in order to save the other two. He _knows_ anything more straining than clapping his hands together is going to be out of the question- and yet...

It's not like he has any other choice.

His naivety led him here, so now he has to get a move on and take the matter in his _own damn hands_.

_This is nothing_, he thinks as he slowly, carefully, lifts his shaky arms in order to wrap his hands around the cold metal. It's slick with his blood, which makes the thing so much harder to grab than it already is, and he doesn't really want to think about that little fact more than necessary-

His breath hitches in the eerie silence of the abandoned building, quickly devolving into harsh pants as the need to breathe makes itself known. He orders himself to breathe, _breathe _through the pain, just like he is used to, like he always has-

_In. Out._

-before he is finally able to take stock of what happened – which isn't all that difficult to figure out; the wound _burns_ even when he doesn't touch the beam, so when he _did _touch it...

He gulps.

_This. Is. __**Nothing**__._

At least, one thing he was able to check with his very short attempt at moving the beam, is that it is lodged _deeply, _deeper than what he'd first thought after getting rid of the other side of it- and _yes, _he knew it had gone all the way through in the first place- but _he is in shock_, and that wasn't his_ point._

His point is that his position on the side may be working against him despite lessening the pain somewhat; in fact, if he's right, it may turn out that, because of how bent around the wound he is, the beam is actually stuck between his hip bone and the bottom of his ribcage.

Which means he has to move. The best course of action would be to straighten his back a bit so that he'd free the beam a little bit more, but-

"-_aAARH-!_"

White-hot pain shoots through his entire body, and for a moment he cannot tell where he is and what is happening anymore.

The world is just pain, and him, smack in the midst of it.

For a second, he thinks he might be dead, as illogical as that would be, but then, he forces himself to _breathe again._

He chokes a bit at first, every inhale moving his rib against the foreign body in his side, and the throbbing and the fire and the _smell of his own blood spilling on the ground fast- __**too fast-**_ is making him nauseous, so he soon finds himself painfully retching bile, along with the 200 cenz coffee he had for a meager breakfast that very morning.

(It seems to have happened so long ago already.)

If there is a sob wrenching itself from his throat by the end of it all, no one here is conscious enough to hear it, and _dammit_, he's not going to cry for anything other than getting Al his body back, but _this still hurts as all fucking hell and back._

He pants harshly for an immeasurable amount of time, far beyond caring about the gross puddle just next to his head and instead focusing on slowing his frantic heartbeat.

Thankfully, it is soon after that that his mind finally seems to overcome the shock and despair at this whole Truth-damned situation, and a surge of adrenaline forces itself through his brain, encouraging it to work full-time in order to increase his chances of survival.

This is his second wind. It's not going to last long, so he's going to have to make the most of it, and _quick_.

Needless to say, this little experiment has at least proved one thing: directly removing the steel beam by himself is not going to be possible – especially if he almost passes out every time he so much as _moves_. But the other two occupants of this place are still passed out, as far as he can tell with his blurry vision, so they are not going to be of any help.

_Think... think..._

There are several ways of removing the beam without having to touch it himself, that he can immediately think of at the top of his head. Most revolve around letting gravity do its job.

Having said that... there's little chance of him not passing out by only trying to move in a position that would allow such a principle to work – it's a fact. Another option then, would be to use his alchemy to transmute the ground around him strategically and lift himself upwards, or even just transmute the ground _under_ him away – or at least just the part where the beam is. However, in his state, he could just as easily kill himself by doing this, be it with a rebound or by exhausting his alchemy before being able to use it to heal his wound once the beam is out.

…

_Fucking hell_, he realizes. He's going to have to do it anyway. Because dangerous and hazardous as it is... this plan is pretty much still his best shot at surviving.

It's at this point that, suddenly, the quiet of the destroyed building is shattered by what sounds like…

-footsteps...?

-and just like that, Ed is just _so fucking relieved,_ that it could be one of the chimeras finally waking up or _bloody Bradley himself_ for all he cares, because, _damn:_

_**He might actually get a shot at surviving this, now.**_

(Frankly, he seriously hopes it's one of the chimeras though, because... well, 'hope' is all he has at this point.)

(And he still has no intention of dying – even if it feels like he already _is_.)

For a few minutes following his moment of delirious elation, the footsteps – which had sounded like they were getting closer to him – stop, and the silence lasts long enough that he starts wondering if he might not have imagined them...

Still, he tries his luck.

"... remove... beam, please...?"

He sounds pathetic, he realizes, but that's fine, 'cause he _feels _pretty pathetic too, and there's no time to think about pride. There's no room for second-guessing either, because, while the person whose footsteps had been approaching him _could_ kill him here and now and be done with it, they could also, hopefully, decide to help him.

(Hope. It always comes down to it in the end.)

Ed doesn't usually rely on anyone, has never liked to do so – except when he's in a fight with his baby brother, who he knows always has his back –, so it figures: the one time he _really_ needs someone else in order to survive, the only one around is a perfect stranger he cannot even see the face of yet.

_Just his Truth-damned luck._

The footsteps resume before he can work himself into another panic, and he looks up as they arrive close enough for him to identify-

-if he could see clearly, that is. His vision is still blurry as fuck, even after blinking hard and multiple times, and he promises himself to never take his 20/20 vision for granted ever again, and-

_Dammit_, his concentration is waning. He needs to focus-

The figure is suddenly much closer, crouching next to him and looming over his bent form, and as he squints at them fruitlessly, Ed can't remember ever feeling more vulnerable than he is now, even when he'd been fighting Scar that first time-

_And he is losing track again_, focus breaking, memories of Al's broken armor assaulting him- his brain drawing all kinds of parallels at the worst possible time, mixing images of real events and nightmares his mind had conjured up in the past-

So he feels completely justified in not noticing it when the figure reaches for the beam like he had asked it to and-

_White._

…

He blinks, and suddenly he is back again.

Wha-?

It couldn't have been for more than a few seconds, because the figure is still here – although they are not moving anymore, as if waiting for his say-so – but he did pass out for a short instant there.

Once again, Ed feels cold at the vulnerability he is displaying, trapped between relief at the fact that, at least, someone is here to help now, and sheer _terror,_ because a slight touch had apparently sufficed to send him back to the land of unconsciousness, as short an instant as it had been, and he doesn't want to imagine what it's going to be like when the beam is actually _removed_-

But it isn't time for suppositions. He needs to_ get a grip_.

This person, whoever the hell they are, is an ally for now – even if they probably aren't – and he would be stupid not to take advantage of their help.

Getting back to business is easy, contrary to the earlier jumble of memories and distracted directions his thoughts had started taking, since the pain – which had receded some into tense numbness for a moment there – is now back _full force_ as if it had never left in the first place.

(If he had more time to take stock, he would notice that it has actually increased slightly in level, but quantifying his levels of pain isn't exactly a priority on his list at the present.)

Whatever, he thinks, gritting his teeth, at least he can think more clearly than ever right now.

"O...kay..." he shifts his right arm away in order to give better access to the stranger, while positioning it in such a way that he'll still be able to clap his hands when the time comes, and even this small action is enough to send jolts of agony throughout his whole body- but he clenches his teeth and bears with it.

He takes a shuddering, painful, but still fortifying breath, then...

"... do... it."

He has a second to wonder if the stranger is going to just go through with it despite not knowing what Ed is planning and his prior reaction- before he has to fight with all of his being in order not to pass out and _never wake up again_.

The sheer agony- it's almost too much- _he's not gonna make it_\- and clearly this stranger doesn't have any qualms at yanking the beam out as easily as if it was a _fucking toothpick-_ but he doesn't have any strength to waste on those thoughts as he tries to conjure his memories of using Envy's stone in order to get out of Gluttony's stomach-

One soul-

_Focus..._

_His_ soul-

_Focus-!_

The feeling of_ using life itself!_

…

And then, just like that, it is done.

He breathes through his clenched teeth, tasting iron.

The damaged tissues are reconnected, and the bleeding has stopped – both internally and externally – but even without being a medical expert, he knows that it's far from enough, and that he could very easily die still – which _isn't an option –_ so he cannot waste any time by passing out again, especially after all the efforts he's put into this.

At least, he reassures himself, now he should be able to move on his own.

(He doesn't even want to start thinking about how many years he has lost by doing this. Or rather, how many he has _left_. At least, he didn't have to use a Philosopher's stone again, thank Truth for small mercies and all that...)

Now, he just needs to stand up and chase after Kimbley before the fucker finds the others.

With the Crimson Alchemist out of his sight – by his own fault, okay? _there_, he admitted it –, he doesn't have any means to know what he is up to anymore. The man could be anywhere from snapping at the others' heels like a rabid dog, to the other side of the town doing some other and equally nefarious deed, which means that _his allies and family are all in danger_. He _knows_ that, and _knows_ he has to get up _now_. Run to the rescue now that his distraction has proven, well, useless.

(…He's just so _tired_.)

His vision is still blurry and his eyelids are growing heavy, when he steels himself and tries to kneel- which instantly causes him to try to contain a scream and definitely wakes him up somewhat, when the new, _fragile_ skin covering up his wound is stretched thin with the slightest of moves. As a result, he doesn't realize at once that the stranger who helped him is still crouching at his side, unmoving.

At first, his tired mind doesn't register the words that leave their mouth either.

"... Fascinating."

He stiffens when, a few beats later, not the words- but the _voice _registers and proceeds to ring a very unfortunate bell- and it takes all he has not to jump away as far as possible from the danger in a potentially devastating move to his barely-held-together left side.

He wishes he could still muster the strength to be properly scared by this fucked up situation, because fear was usually helpful like that when it came to his continued survival, but at this point, he is just so _done-_ that all he can do is groan lowly and slowly shift his gaze from the blurry floor, to the equally blurry crouched form of _Zolf J. __**fucking**__ Kimbley, _who is still presumably looking down at him as if he were a particularly resilient insect.

_What the fuck is he doing here?_

Came to see the results of his work? Or did he lose Scar's scent...?

(The very real possibility that he had already found Scar and the others before coming back is carefully ignored for a time when he will actually be able to _do something about it_-)

But, wait- why bother with helping remove the beam...?

Although, he _can_ imagine that Bradley wouldn't be very happy with the man if it turned out he'd killed one of their precious 'sacrifices', but... to go so far as to ensure he would make it instead of watching him slowly die like the psycho Ed knows he is...?

The more he thinks about it, the less everything makes sense, but that most likely also has to do with the way his vision is slowly but surely starting to blacken at the edges, and- okay- now the prior panic is rising again, because passing out next to Kimbley, even after he helped him, is sending him all kinds of warning signals and his brain just cannot deal with everything anymore-

In the end, it only takes a few seconds longer for exhaustion to win the fight, and Ed unwillingly surrenders to the dark confines of his mind and the shadows that always lurk there...

* * *

Kimbley is stumped.

He'd figured that the young Fullmetal had to be something special for the homonculi to be so invested in his continued survival, but he would have never guessed...

He would have never guessed that he was such an absolute_ genius_.

The only reason Kimbley actually understands what the boy has done to his soul, is because of how similar the transmutation felt to what _he_ does with the Philosopher's stone on a regular basis.

But to use one's own life energy- one's own soul-

It's crazy, and _brilliant_-

(And frankly, it's making him a bit short of breath.)

The boy is unconscious right now, as he should have for a long time already, but Kimbley has trouble shaking off his agonized screams from his still ringing ears – which isn't necessarily a bad thing, just like the fact that the whole spectacle he demonstrated earlier is now burned on his retinas-

-and he doesn't think he can ever see the boy the same way ever again. Not after this.

Such fighting spirit,_ such will to live..._

The older alchemist shudders. He is reminded of his conversation with the boy at Briggs fort, and can't help but wonder if, just a few moments ago, the boy truly did not enjoy the thrill of fighting for his own survival...

Kimbley himself certainly enjoyed _watching_ it.

It was awe-inspiring really, among other things, and Kimbley can easily admit to having been impressed by the boy's performance. As he gets up from his crouched position on the slippery crimson floor, he acknowledges that there's also a bit of annoyance mixed somewhere in there at the ineffectiveness of the explosion he'd caused – aided by a stone on top of that –, as well as some measure of relief at the fact that he isn't going to have to report _that_ particular tidbit to Central. There's also anger at Scar having successfully gotten away, but that can wait, he thinks, contrary to Pride's insistence that he should complete his mission in Briggs, and the Fullmetal's health issues.

He doesn't need to ponder the reason why he's helped the younger alchemist, because he knows he has always been of curious nature, and Fullmetal's call for help had been far too tempting to ignore.

He looks down at the small prone form at his feet once again, hand holding his chin.

Had the boy even known who he was so politely asking for help?

…Kimbley finds that he has a burning urge to know the answer to that question.

After all, by all accounts the boy sees him as a monster in league with the _other _monsters behind the whole country's bloody history; what kind of reaction would he have to the knowledge that such a being assisted in saving his life?

But also, what manner of human could he possibly be, to choose to adhere to his resolve and not kill Kimbley despite knowing all that he did?

(There's also the fascinating fact that _he_ of all people would end up being the one to help heal such an injury, what with how similar it was to the one he himself was inflicted not so long ago – but that's another matter entirely.)

He's already told the boy off for the naivety of his resolve not to kill, earlier – which, _honestly,_ there's a small part of him that feels quite offended at the younger alchemist's belief that he could defeat him without that sort of resolve – but he wonders... He wonders just how deeply this resolve runs, to what extent it is actually ingrained in the boy, and how come working for the military for as long as he has hasn't 'beaten it out of him' yet, so to say. State alchemists are killers after all; it is their duty.

In a sense, this event helps Kimbley understand how Fullmetal's resolve not to kill _could_ be beneficial; because in a terribly roundabout, unrefined way, the boy's choice not to kill him earlier _had _indeed turned out with Kimbley helping him not to die afterwards – never mind that he was also the cause of this life-threatening scenario.

Most of all however...

He wonders what kind of changes this whole experience is going to bring about in the boy and his resolve.

His gaze shifts upwards to the hole in the ceiling at that point – with, admittedly, a certain amount of satisfaction – as he continues to ponder young pacifist alchemist geniuses and his next course of action, when- out of nowhere, there is the slightest sound of shifting clothes-

-and suddenly he is on his back, having miscalculated his dodge at the clawed swipe that had come for his head, and having slipped on the blood the young Fullmetal had been spilling all over the floor for the past fifteen minutes or so.

He is so surprised by this unexpected attack and consequent fall, that it's already too late when he gathers his wits and gets up – his white suit thoroughly covered in blood – to replicate:

Both the chimeras he had presumed dead, and the Fullmetal boy, have disappeared – the latter only leaving a large red puddle in his wake and, of course, a stained beam of steel.

… The only thing that would make this situation even more bothersome than it already is, would be if they were to have swiped the Philosopher's stone he had originally come back here for after his encounter with Pride.

(But somehow, he doubts they would have missed such an opportunity.)

* * *

**A/N: -aaand that's it for now! Next chapter we get to see the aftermath and consequences of this slight - but quite meaningful - change in history, and of course: Kimbley.**

**Don't hesitate to review - it's always hard when there isn't that much material of a character you write about, and Kimbley's thought process is particularly hard to depict, so... do tell me what you think!**

**PS: For once, this is a multi-chaptered _completed _story: _I feel so proud_ *cries***


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Kimbley - a guy after my own heart. In this chapter, we get to explore a little bit of what goes on inside his head - through Ed's slightly traumatized eyes, that is. Also, be warned: we get philosophical.**

**Disclaimer: refer to first chapter**

* * *

Following this event, Ed puts Kimbley out of his thoughts for longer than he really cares to admit, and he knows it isn't only because any reminders of his rather dramatic rescue by the two chimeras – Heinkel and Darius – are a bit embarrassing to think of.

It's just- he has _questions_. Questions he doesn't really care to ask the man in person, partly because he doesn't expect him to answer, and partly because they are currently actively running _away _from the guy.

So when one day he comes back from grocery shopping, to the clinic that has been healing/hiding them for the past few days, the soldier on the doorstep isn't entirely unexpected and he has no trouble playing the curious nobody in order to gather info. But when he's done knocking him and his little friends around, it turns out to be a bit more difficult not to startle at the sound of clapping coming from the back room.

"Well, well. I believe this is what we call an 'auspicious day', isn't it, Fullmetal Alchemist?"

Well, shit.

"Kimbley..." Ed acknowledges, checking the room for Heinkel and Darius as he enters, but only managing to confirm that they are nowhere in sight; he can only hope that their animal instincts warned them just in time to make a run for it, "What are you doing here?"

He's pretty sure the older alchemist – currently standing in all his white glory in the empty bedroom – knows what he's really asking for, which is basically: why would a private agent of the homonculi be here right now, doing mere underling work, when he is needed in Briggs for his terrible murderous task...?

So he waits, and indeed, true to the veneer of politeness Ed has always known him to display since they first met, Kimbley obliges.

"I did have to rush things along a bit, but my work in the North is complete – if that's what had you so curious." Kimbley is grinning, as if he knows exactly what Ed is thinking at the moment and how tense this answer has suddenly made him, before, surprisingly, he elaborates, "...I thought it rather poetic in its irony that an enemy country would get mixed up in the future annihilation of Amestris by unknowingly contributing their worth in blood. Don't you?"

Ed thinks that small piece of information is meant to and _should_ pacify him some – what with all the people he's come to know in Briggs who Kimbley has now confirmed safe –, but the thought of so many surrounding countries, and now Drachma, having to suffer for Father's demented plans while not even being part of Amestris... It's-

He clenches his fists tightly as he glares at Kimbley in seething silence.

Said man tilts his head to the side and holds his chin in one hand.

"You truly _are _a pacifist it seems, _still_," he remarks, sounding genuinely interested by that as his gaze pierces into Ed's, "For a moment there, I emitted the possibility that your avoidance of killing was due to lingering loyalty instead of sheer naivety; a type of 'even if they're trying to kill me, they're still Amestrian citizens' mentality..."

He takes a step closer to Ed, then another, and soon, he is standing just a few feet from the younger alchemist, but not so close that he is within his attack range.

(-which has Ed swearing internally.)

"... but of course, Scar's continuing existence wouldn't make any sense if it were so." he continues, tone light and open.

Ed isn't looking for having pleasant conversation with the guy who put a steel beam through his guts though – even if it was not entirely intended.

"Don't think I'll be so naive twice, Kimbley." he cuts in, all the while looking for an opening – to either fight or run, he'll decide when the first opportunity comes – and getting quickly irritated at the fact that a man with one hand in his pocket can maintain such a solid guard.

Kimbley's grin stretches wider at his words – threat, really – and Ed automatically takes a wary step back- only for the older man to match it, then another- and so on, as he continues to advance until Ed has no choice but to walk backwards and hope he isn't backing himself into a corner. Kimbley's steps never falter and Ed has to resist the urge to either recklessly throw himself into battle and be done with it, or look behind him and risk paying the price for leaving the man out of his sight for even the slightest of moment, until-

_There._ He's standing on the room's threshold.

Ed feels a smirk appearing on his face as he takes a sharp inhale, and, lightning quick, claps his hands in order to transmute his automail into his favorite weapon-

Unfortunately, his hands never quite make it together, a harsh grip on both his wrists abruptly halting his movements.

…Evidently, Kimbley doesn't have his hands in his pockets anymore.

_Shit._

"It seems I guessed correctly: you didn't flee."

There's something gleeful in the older alchemist's voice, and Ed doesn't have to see his face to know it doesn't mean anything good for him.

The irony of their situation being reversed compared to the last time they met is not lost on him either.

He quickly takes stock of the state of his injuries, deems them in good enough shape for more advanced acrobatics, and launches himself _up_.

Wrongly assuming he was going for a headbutt, Kimbley dodges, which makes Ed's sailing over the man's head all the easier, and in less time than he can say '_white suits are for perverts!_', he's behind Kimbley, his wrists wrenched free. He quickly follows up by smoothly crouching down in order to swipe the man's legs from under him, but Kimbley simply jumps to avoid them, and he easily retaliates-

"_Argh-!_"

"Cute. But, again: _naive_."

_The fucking bastard had kicked him in his side!_

Ed is immediately up and kicking again, and he is viciously satisfied to hear and feel more than a third of his attacks landing exactly where he wants them to – fuck _yeah_, northern automail rules! – and the fight begins in earnest, with Kimbley targeting the places where he remembers Ed having been injured in return – which sucks ass, but also makes him a_ smidgen _more predictable.

The older man isn't grinning anymore so much as he is downright baring his teeth, and the dignified impression he's always been so careful to project seems long gone now – along with his white hat actually –, which works for Ed either way, since he isn't one to be so easily intimidated; it does make his hackles raise, however.

There is no need for chatter since they both know what the other wants – only grunts and harsh pants, with the occasional crackle of alchemical energy mixed in, but nothing too flashy since the room isn't all that big and Kimbley seems aware that another blunder like the mine explosion would get him killed by the homonculi.

There's a short lull in the fight during which Ed notices how trashed the room is and winces in anticipation of the old doctor couple's reactions, before his face abruptly blanches at the unexpected sight of Kimbley's ungloved hands.

And the scar on the palm of one of them.

His surprise lasts for a second at most, but it is enough of a distraction to get him thrown to the other side of the room by a well-placed kick to his side (again), and he gasps both in surprise and pain when he reaches the wall, momentarily unable to draw air to his lungs.

In the blink of an eye, Kimbley is on him – literally, because he somehow ends up straddling him – taking particular attention in putting extra weight in his right knee, which is strategically placed against the recently healed but still tender wound of his side. Ed winces and grits his teeth, but his pain tolerance _has _actually remarkably evolved since his rather unfortunate meeting with a steel beam, so he feels pretty confident in his chances of evading Kimbley anyway, even if the man has taken hold of his wrists again and has them pinned above his head.

So naturally, Kimbley has to go and make everything more difficult for him.

"I see you've noticed the little souvenir you've left me," he remarks casually, as if talking about _the fucking weather_, "it makes for a lovely reminder."

Kimbley has never struck him as the type to waste time on innate chatter, so Ed is taken aback; besides, while he does kind of wonder why the older alchemist never bothered healing his hand properly with his stone, right now he frankly doesn't care to know. His disinterest must have shown plainly on his face, because Kimbley's sinister grin turns amused.

Needless to say, he is _not_ prepared for what follows.

"Of course, it isn't the only souvenir I kept from that day..." Kimbley practically _purrs_.

…

The younger alchemist's confusion is short-lived.

"... Y-_you fucking psycho!_" this actually forces a _laugh_ out of the Crimson Alchemist, who seems to be drinking in the reactions he's given with gusto, when all Ed can feel is nausea and a vicious urge to punch the man in the nose, "Wha- why _the hell_ would you keep _that?!_"

And by 'that', he obviously means: _the_ _goddamn steel beam that had skewered him._

"You clever, clever boy. You must be quite twisted yourself for realizing what I was referring to so quickly." Kimbley comments lightly, his smile easy compared to the prior bloodlust, and twice as terrifying.

Ed shouldn't waste time being horrified at something he cannot even check the validity of – although he doubts Kimbley would have anything to gain from such a lie – but he _is._ Horrified, that is. Because despite the assurances he's given his two annoying chimera rescuers/bodyguards in the past few days that _he is fine, thankyouverymuch_, the memories of _that day_ are quite clear in his overly active mind (-because he almost _died-_ and_ the pain_-) – clear enough that he's still very much_ not_ fine, and having Kimbley loom over him is definitely going to trigger a flashback _any time now_ – which he does _not _need. So he fights with everything he has in order to bring his focus back to struggling under Kimbley's unforgiving grip and weight, even if it doesn't seem to do much.

(_Damn_, who would have thought the man had it in him? He was supposed to be a long-range fighter!)

_Flee-fleefleeflee-_

Ed grits his teeth at what his instincts are screaming at him, as he strains against the hold on his hands, bucks his lower body and legs against Kimbley's weight, and looks everywhere but at him in a vain attempt at finding a solution out of this predicament somewhere in the room.

The knowing eyes that the older alchemist keeps trained on him during all this are more upsetting than he cares to admit.

"It _was _quite the notable event, what happened down there..." Kimbley comments, as if reading his thoughts and merely enjoying his struggles.

Ed's eyes snap to his. _That fucker_-

"I merely decided it deserved to be remembered in a more... _tangible_ way." Kimbley goes on, seemingly taking extreme delight in the pallor he must be displaying and easily ignoring his death glare, "Wounds can heal after all, with time and care. Blood-covered steel on the other hand..." he trails off.

Ed makes a conscious effort _not _to let his breath hitch – really, why did he even ask for an explanation? he definitely dug his own grave with that one – but nausea assaults him like a punch in the gut, and he reflexively turns his head to the side, losing eye-contact and gagging.

Images assault him, phantom pain only worsened by the knee digging in his old injury-

"... It's something quite special we shared back then, Fullmetal." the older alchemist resumes, as if loosing himself to the memories as well, "Or should I say 'Edward'? I believe we are beyond titles at this point, don't you agree?"

Short of breath, Ed still has the strength to shoot him his darkest glare, "_Fuck you,_ Kimbley."

Said man raises an eyebrow, "Rude."

The comment is accompanied by a renewed force applied to his abdomen, and Ed can't stop the gasp that makes it past his lips this time. That _fucking_-

"Let me _go!_" Ed snarls past the pain and mid-panic, but Kimbley doesn't budge.

"Are you not going to say 'please'?" oh how he wishes he could knock that smug fucker's teeth out- "I did so appreciate your short bout of politeness back then..."

Ed swallows the urge to throw up in the other's face at the double entendre he instantly caught there. One memory in particular, mixed in with the pain-driven delirium of that time, crawls its way to the forefront of his mind, and- his ribcage suddenly feels too tight for his lungs-

"Also... that's not really the proper way to address one's savior." Kimbley finally drawls, but it's obvious by the smirk dancing on his lips that he isn't all that offended.

And _fuck_ it if he isn't right in at least one thing in that sentence, and it's killing Ed to admit it, _but-_

_-Kimbley __**did**__ save his life_.

And _of course_ he would bring it up to try and get a rise out of Ed.

The reminder has at least the merit of giving the younger alchemist pause. Because after all, ever since waking up with the chimeras insisting to nurse him back to health as thanks for saving them, Ed has kind of avoided thinking about what being saved by Kimbley meant for him.

But Ed _does_ take a measure of pride in never shying away from the truth and deceiving himself.

So, _sure_, Kimbley was basically the cause of his injury; _sure_, he didn't do the most taxing part of the healing, nor did he assist with his stone instead of watching him struggle and use his own life energy; but... for all that the chimeras has been the ones to take him to a doctor to get properly treated...

… Kimbley _was_ indeed the one to remove the beam. And Ed has serious doubts that he would have survived without that timely intervention.

Owing Kimbley his life is potentially one of the worst mistakes he's ever made; and he can feel it, up there at the top of the list, right under his and Al's attempt at human transmutation.

But... he can't bring himself to regret it.

It simply isn't the most_ convenient_ of life bets to owe, per se.

(Now, if he could do something about the gratefulness he can't help but feel even while being painfully pinned to the floor by the one it's directed at, he would be a happy camper.)

Kimbley must have seen the different turn his thoughts have now taken from his previous panic – again, what a sharp, annoying _fuc_\- – because he blinks down at him bemusedly for a few seconds. Then...

"... I can't say I expected that reaction." he says, and Ed develops a tick under his eye, "I admit I was more prepared for frantic denials than... begrudging acknowledgment."

Ed scowls but can't say he's surprised; his temper is a bit of a legend, according to Al, that little traitor.

"I'm not going to deny the truth." he snarls – which would probably look more impressive if he wasn't on the floor, but beggars can't be choosers and all that – instead of arguing about his reputation, "...And I can't say I expected you to help either." he adds with a deadpan, looking at Kimbley and daring him to ask for 'thanks'.

He doesn't, and it leaves enough of a reprieve for Ed to make a mental note that:_ damn_, he's getting waaaay too relaxed than the situation should allow – even if it's leagues better than his previous state of mind.

However, before he can make another honest attempt at liberating himself from Kimbley's grip now that he's recovered from his momentary distracted state, the man is opening his mouth again, and despite himself, Ed is a bit curious; so he waits.

"This is what I find most puzzling, Edward," the older alchemist starts, as if thinking out-loud, and causing the younger alchemist to cringe at hearing the full version of his first name, "...you do seem particularly self-aware for someone your age- but, evidently, it's logical that your sheer intelligence would negate the effects of something as arbitrary as 'age'." ...where is he going with that, and is it bad that he actually feels a bit flattered to hear that from a psycho? "-Which is why I have trouble understanding where your hopeless naivety stems from." -aaand, there you go, not flattered anymore.

Ed chooses to actually dignify this with an answer.

"First of all: fuck you," he ignores the punishing additional weight that presses again his abdomen – _touchy_ – and continues, "second, while I do admit that it was naive of me not to expect you to have a plan B back then, you're gravely mistaken if you think I consider not wanting to kill an enemy, 'naivety'. Because that would imply that I'm not aware of the possible consequences of my actions, and that's not the case, now even more so than ever before." he pauses to glare meaningfully at the older alchemist, "Though... I guess it would be difficult for someone like you to see the appeal of a resolve that's so difficult to stick to." he offers, well aware by now of the other's… 'different' way of thinking.

Kimbley raises an eyebrow.

"It's _inefficient_, is what it is."

Ed blinks dumbly at the man above him, "'Inefficient'...?"

"Yes. It is an inefficient resolve that will definitely prompt the end of your continued existence sooner rather than later. It doesn't provide anything worthwhile- it is simply an unneeded hassle that adds unnecessary difficulty to guaranteeing your survival."

"Whoa- wait a minute there; what-" Ed wishes he could pinch the bridge of his nose; instead, he huffs an agitated sigh, "For starters, why can't you understand that my own survival and an enemy's survival don't have to be _mutually exclusive?-_" he takes a breath, trying to center himself, before continuing, truly wondering why he feels the need to get so involved in this, _"_But more importantly, what gave you the idea that my resolve has _anything_ to do with my 'continued existence' in the first place?"

Kimbley actually rolls his eyes at him.

Ed admittedly gapes a bit before sputtering back into monologue.

"You- Listen Kimbley, I think you're missing something there: I'm not _you_; I don't put as much stock in my survival as you apparently do, and in fact, if it weren't in order to get Al his body back, I probably wouldn't even be alive _today –_ so, come on! Explain this to me in a way I'll actually understand: _what the hell does my survival has to do with my resolve?_"

Ed pants by the end of his rant, and he sees Kimbley blink without a word, once, twice, before...

"Every living being is motivated by its own survival and forms their resolve accordingly. Saying the contrary is just another form of the egotism you so denied possessing."

Ed stays silent for a moment at that, ignoring the part where Kimbley basically calls him an idiot, and searching his eyes.

"You..." he tentatively mutters after an immeasurable amount of time, "You genuinely believe that, don't you...?"

"What I believe doesn't matter in that instance;" Kimbley swiftly dismisses, "the only thing I'm curious about in your case, is how you can so strongly expect to be able to maintain such a peculiar resolve, in a position that opposes it so directly. For some unfathomable reason, I do actually have trouble envisioning it to be the result of mere naivety, but..."

"... Or perhaps you're just overestimating my thought process." Ed deadpans, "I simply don't do things that I don't _want_ to do. Maybe there's nothing more to it."

"But why _wouldn't _you?" Kimbley stresses, squinting down at him with the most baffled expression Ed has yet to see on the older alchemist's face.

"...You don't understand at all, do you?" he prompts, and the irritated line of the older alchemist's mouth is ample confirmation.

Kimbley still answers, "Your stubbornness isn't incomprehensible so much as it is _absurd._"

Ed groans in frustration – because of course Kimbley would reduce his resolve as mere 'stubbornness' when he cannot explain it – closing his eyes tightly as if it would make the other one and his forceful questioning disappear.

"...Alright, I think I can see where exactly our reasoning begin to differ." he starts again after some time to quietly gather his thoughts, suddenly exhausted but also aware that Kimbley has no intention to let him go before he is satisfied, "On a fundamental level, I think you are the most literal guy I've ever met, actually," his eyes are still closed, so Ed doesn't see the older alchemist's reaction to _that_, but he goes on without checking, "'Survival of the fittest', 'a soldier obeys orders above anything else', 'humans act primarily on self-interest',... You study a basic principle, observe that it applies to many situations, and just- decide to use it as a guideline of sorts. You can't just wing it like most people, because you know your own wants don't exactly align with what society usually allows, am I wrong?"

Ed opens his eyes when no answer is forthcoming, and comes face to face to Kimbley, who has leaned closer than ever into his personal space, nose almost touching his and breath brushing against him.

"... humans are much more complex creatures than what mere principles dictate." he replies shortly.

It isn't a denial.

But Ed doesn't press, because they're not here to debate all day and Kimbley is honestly creeping him out a bit.

"Moving on from that," he resumes, "as the appeal in _not_ killing seems to completely elude you, I gather that..." he trails off for a second, "erm, could you-" he waits until Kimbley gets a clue and leans a bit further back, but not as far as when he'd first pinned him, "Anyway, what I mean to say is that- well... It's easy to take a life for you, isn't it?"

"Yes?"

Kimbley clearly doesn't seem to get where he is going with that.

Ed isn't used to being the more reasonable person in the room, and he finds he doesn't like it one bit.

"Well, killing being 'easy' doesn't make it _right_."

The man starts looking menacing all of a sudden, and Ed resists the urge to gulp, "If you start preaching to me, _Edward,_ about the all-important and continuously arbitrarily-fluctuating difference between what's deemed right and wrong, I'm going to have to-"

Ed interrupts him by growling in exasperation, "That's not what I meant- urgh! You're- never mind, I can't blame you for not understanding something that, at a basic level, really doesn't make much sense when you think about it. But then again, if other arbitrary rules exist and you abide by them, why not the one I'm about to tell you?"

Ed gets the feeling that if he could raise his eyebrow higher still, Kimbley would. With said man's attention back on track, he continues.

"'I don't create life, so I don't destroy it either'. Basically, existence is something humans fundamentally fail to truly understand. It is a fact. Even as alchemists, we basically know _nothing, _contrary to popular belief." he scoffs internally, resisting the urge to add 'and my own 6 year-old preconceived notions', "So, knowing that, I ask you to answer me this: on what basis should it be _okay_ to destroy that which we are so pathetically ignorant of?"

Kimbley blinks owlishly at him.

His mouth is closed, but his expression gives Ed the impression that he is gaping. Silence stretches and the younger alchemist is growing increasingly uncomfortable with the scrutiny, but in spite of the older man's apparent wandering focus, his grip around his wrists is as unrelenting as ever.

Ed finds himself idly thinking that he must be good at multitasking.

The uncomfortable quietness continues, with Ed trying to listen for the possible presence of the old couple of doctors that he hadn't seen when he'd entered earlier, and the potential sounds of fighting in the corridors or on the streets outside. When his ears don't reveal anything of the sort, he goes back to searching for a way out of his predicament, methodically testing Kimbley for weaknesses in his grip at irregular intervals. The man _is_ bound to get tired after all this time in a tense position; he just needs to be patient.

(No matter if patience isn't exactly his forte.)

And then, finally...

"... So then, what you are saying is that killing is a nonsense until one knows how existence comes about?" Kimbley reasons with an uncertain questioning tilt at the end of his sentence.

Ed resists correcting him with the more obvious answer that _playing around with life and death is just plain wrong_ (and foolish, one could argue – a fact he knows more than most about, thank you very much), because he doubts that would go overly well with Kimbley, what with his apparent rather violent dislike for the concepts of rightness and wrongness.

The older alchemist goes on, "Which means that... your resolve stems from a feeling of inadequacy at your lack of knowledge."

…More like from a need to explain morals to a psychopath who just can't take 'I don't want to' for an answer – but sure, let's go with that.

"Yeah, sure."

By the time it looks like he has finally processed that, the curious gleam in Kimbley's eye seems to have increased ten-fold, and Ed feels like facepalming.

"...You have such peculiar opinions, Edward Elric. Why would you not side with the ones who appear to be the closest to obtaining the knowledge you're missing?"

Ed looks blankly at the excited Kimbley who is starting to look like a little kid who's just learned something particularly interesting – and nefarious – before replying.

"... Contrary to what Father seems to think, I'm perfectly aware that my existence matters little in the grand scheme of things – and that such knowledge has a price beyond anything even _he _will ever be able to pay." he grimaces at the reference to that annoying Truth, and winces at Kimbley's wide-eyed curiosity, "You're an observer right? You want to be able to observe the changes brought about in this world and how everything will turn out?" he doesn't wait for an answer, because he already knows it – Kimbley himself told him as such at some point after all, "One piece of advice then: if you ever desire knowledge beyond what our measly human brains can naturally learn, don't ever seek it at- well, just don't ever try human transmutation. It's just not worth it. Trust me on this."

Because even if he doesn't like Kimbley – or, well, it would be more accurate to say he doesn't _hate _him – Ed feels somewhat obliged to issue that particular warning, even if it does make him feel like an ambassador for Truth – which pisses him off to no end.

On another note entirely: he is starting to get a cramp in his leg. He wouldn't be surprised if Kimbley is as well.

The bizarreness of the situation is also starting to take its toll on him.

_He wonders where Heinkel and Darius have disappeared..._

Naturally, it is in that very instant, as he is thinking those very thoughts, that he feels Kimbley's grip around his wrists soften _juuust_ slightly so, and-

_Ed was waiting for this._

-he _pounces_.

Kimbley doesn't see it coming, but he certainly _hears_ it, because the satisfying crunch his nose makes under Ed's automail fist is the loudest sound to ring in the empty destroyed bedroom – aside from his accompanying pained cry – in a long time.

Let it not be forgotten that Ed _has_ a very mean bone in his body – or perhaps even several – and spite _in spades_, because the next and last thing Kimbley feels for the day is a particularly brutal kick to the back of his head that automatically makes him pass out before he has time to even think about using his stone to fight back.  
It takes a few minutes for Ed to adjust again to the change of pace and his newly regained vertical position, as well as trying to properly regain feeling in both his flesh limbs. The long tired sigh he releases is equal parts pure _relief _at finally being rid of Kimbley_, _and strong annoyance at the lingering feeling of helplessness being pinned to the floor caused him to feel.

There's a lucky wardrobe in a far-off corner that seems to have survived the fight, and he spends a long minute entertaining the thought of just shoving Kimbley in it and be done with the psycho.

In the end though, contrary to what most of the people who know him would say, he _does_ have common sense, so he mentally concedes that antagonizing Kimbley doesn't sound like a very worthwhile endeavor – more like a suicidal move, really – and simply decides to leave him to his devices in a corner of the room.

… Not like there are any beds left anyway.

He looks at the downed man for a few moments, then turns around and simply (finally) crosses the threshold out of the destroyed room.

On his way out, he meets the doctor couple who is glaring at him for all the fuss and the destroyed furniture they haven't even seen yet, and he fishes a handful of bills from the grocery bag he'd absentmindedly left at the entrance earlier. In the end, he hands both the bills and half the food over, because the old couple hasn't seen the state of the bedroom yet, busy as they are yelling at him, and he _is _leaving them a troublesome package in that same room, that he doesn't know how to deal with himself.

He's _fairly_ confident that the older alchemist wouldn't hurt them.

It is only after rejoining with the chimeras – who as it turns out had been dealing with the other soldiers outside during his fight with Kimbley – and long after starting the journey towards one of his old hideouts in a stolen car, that he realizes he still doesn't know why Kimbley decided to save him.

…Oh well. Third time's the charm?

* * *

**A/N: And that's a wrap! The next two chapters are much shorter and include the Epilogue, but if you wish to know what long-lasting changes those two non-canon encounters with Kimbley brought about, I recommend reading them.**

**As with last time, do not hesitate to review this chapter - tell me what you liked, what you hated, and basically what you thought overall, and I'll gladly take it!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: This chapter is 181 words-long, can you believe that? I don't think I've never written anything so short in my entire life (cue dramatic wailing).**

**Disclaimer: refer to first chapter**

* * *

Third time is _not _the charm, because when Ed meets Kimbley again the next time, it is from _within Pride_, and Ed feels distinctly wrong-footed for not having realized the man had been killed at some point during the shit-storm the Promised Day is turning out to be.

Or maybe even _before_.

And for some reason, he feels that he should have known, should have been able to _tell_\- which makes absolutely no sense, but, hey- he _is_ currently in soul form in what amounts to the middle of Pride's stone, fighting for control- so what does he know about what makes sense anymore?

Regardless, perhaps in another timeline – one where, months ago, Heinkel and Darius _don't_ lose consciousness under the tower's debris –, Ed doesn't have to think twice about the soul of what was once a dangerous enemy, swimming effortlessly alongside the jumbled mass of souls that makes up 'Pride'-

But_._ In _this _timeline…

_Ed has a debt._

(And he's pretty sure there's no better time than now to pay it back.)

* * *

**A/N: Hmmm what could that possibly mean...?**

**You don't even have to wait for an answer, because the next chapter has it (no suspens whatsoever *laughs*)!**


	4. Epilogue

**A/N: see you at the end of the chapter!**

**Disclaimer: refer to first chapter**

* * *

The first time he notices that the dreams are different from the ones he usually has, he is four years old.

When he asks his twin brother whether he has the same dreams or not, he only receives a shake of the head and harmless curiosity.

Thing is, he is not too keen on retelling the dreams, no matter how much his brother insists, because they're full of quick images and screams, red, and black, and people with white hair and red eyes, and sparkling magic followed by loud explosions, and-

Frankly, it scares him.

But...

Among all the spooky flashes that make him want to wake up as soon as possible, there is... one dream, or rather, one _detail_ in one of the dreams, that is different from all the rest.

It's flitting, come and gone before he can fully register it, lost in the powerful tidal wave of colors and screams he doesn't remember ever having seen nor heard outside of the dreams- it's just a tiny flickering image-

One of golden hair and golden eyes.

And whenever he sees it, for some reason, he doesn't feel all that scared anymore.

That said, once something that used to bother them doesn't anymore, four years-olds tend to simply forget and go on with their lives, old memories easily swept under the rug to be replaced by new, exciting information; and this particular child is no exception. So when the dreams stop assaulting him every night, soothed away by warm golden light, the child... forgets.

He forgets and grows up, surrounded by a loving mother and a nice twin brother, and many _many_ friends visiting from all-over the world.

But there is one person he favors among all those visitors who sometimes look at him and his brother as if they're looking _through _them:

He has golden eyes and golden hair, and Mother says he is the one who gave him his name – and he loves it all the more for that little fact; for his name, which he thinks sounds pretty cool all in all even if his brother still has trouble pronouncing it for now…

.

.

.

… is 'Zolf'_._

_FIN_

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**A/N: There you have it; my sort of- kind of- happy ending for our dear underrated psychopath! It wasn't the driving force behind this story, but I think it fits. Not that Kimbley's 'discussion' with Ed changed anything in his actual behavior - he still ended up in Pride's stomach exactly because he wouldn't alter his course of actions, but I feel that Ed isn't the kind who would conveniently forget who he owes his life to.**

**So there, one last time, please don't hesitate to review this story, whether it be to argue or to concur with the points mentionned - I'll update the last chapter to include replies if necessary -, or even to criticize my admittedly terrible grammar (I've never tried writing in this tense before so I'm expecting it).**

**Until next time, in this fandom or another ('Affection' readers, I'm not forgetting you!), and thanks for reading to the end! ;)**

**Edit: minor corrections because FF likes forgetting spaces and erasing chunks of words for some reason.**


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